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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596962">Pulse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment'>TsarinaTorment</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sensory Sunday [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thunderbirds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Earthquakes, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Kayo, Hurt Scott, Hurt Virgil, Hurt/Comfort, Kayo Whump, Panic Attacks, Paralysis, Scott Whump, SensorySunday, Virgil Whump, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:20:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Earthquakes suck.  Badly.  Especially when you’re still in an unstable building when the world crashes down.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scott Tracy &amp; Alan Tracy, Scott Tracy &amp; Gordon Tracy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sensory Sunday [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I - Kayo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As promised I'm back for more of Gumnut's SensorySunday challenge - this week it's the sense of Touch!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her eyes opened into black. Not unexpected, but unwelcome as her fingers fumbled for her torch and found it missing. Great. The groan of shifting masonry reminded her why she was here in the first place and even if she'd been the type to sit and wait for help, that wouldn't do her any good here. She didn't know how long the remains of the building would stay intact, but she couldn't be in here when it did.</p><p>Nor could the people she'd been attempting to rescue before the second earthquake struck.</p><p>"Hello?" she called out, reaching out until her fingertips brushed rubble. Cautiously, she followed it up, the lumps and bumps of broken brick rough and punishing on her fingers. Sometimes, she wished she wore full gloves all the time. Not often, but right now – with snags of brick and metal catching her skin and tearing it as she gingerly made to stand – she'd have liked the additional protection.</p><p>The top of her head hit something above her and she instinctively ducked again, raising a hand to find the culprit. A low ceiling. It probably hadn't been a ceiling when the building was intact – more likely a wall – but that made no difference to her now as she resigned herself to a crouch. Clearly standing up was not an option.</p><p>It was easier to move around on her hands and knees than an awkward squatted walk, so she readjusted herself, feeling something lumpy and unpleasant dig in to her knee in <em>just</em> the wrong spot, and began a slow advance.</p><p>Her night vision wasn't exactly <em>poor</em>, but right now it was refusing to kick in. Who knew how far they'd fallen into the ground below, away from all possible sources of light? No-one was responding to her call, either, and she grit her teeth as her knee hit another unforgiving lump of probably masonry.</p><p>"Hello?" she tried again. "I'm with International Rescue!"</p><p>Earlier, they'd been talking. A young boy with a voice squeaking through fear and his grandfather, a tough old nut that reminded her of Grandma Tracy. Then the quake had struck, and now there was silence.</p><p>She fumbled further, reaching out in all directions in the hope that she'd find something soft, warm and breathing. Every time, it was harsh, cold and still.</p><p>And then she reached the other end. Her little enclosure was exactly that – small, she estimated not even ten feet in length.</p><p>But there was air, brushing her cheek. Just a light breeze, nothing dramatic, but she followed it, stumbling over uneven ground and idly wondering how black and blue her knees were going to be tomorrow as they stubbed against more masonry.</p><p>There <em>would</em> be a tomorrow, she told herself as the makeshift ceiling above her groaned dramatically. It reminded her of Gordon, pulling out all the theatrics just to prove a point. This thing's point was that it wouldn't be staying up much longer, and Kayo had no intentions of remaining underneath it when it fell.</p><p>The air was coming through a crack, she discovered as the cheek she'd been using to follow it scraped roughly against sandpaper rock. She could only imagine what that was doing to her skin as she backed up slightly, and explored with her fingers.</p><p>The rubble was smaller here, chunks that, with enough persuasion, might be able to move all by themselves. Above, the ceiling groaned again, a dying wail warning her that what little time she'd had was all but gone, and she threw herself at the weak point, scrabbling with torn fingers and ripping off fingernails in the process.</p><p>Out. She had to get out. Out, out, <em>out</em>.</p><p>The ceiling gave way just as a last desperate shoulder burst her through the rubble, peppering her with masonry dust and small chunks of brick and mortar, but she was through.</p><p>Through except for the boot of her trailing foot, trapped by larger rocks and refusing to budge.</p><p>Removing safety equipment was a bad idea, but it was the boot or stay trapped there forever. Her ankle protested loudly, but some solid yanks got her free – although not without a price.</p><p>Okay, so she wasn't going to be walking on that ankle any time soon. It was a good thing this place was crawling only.</p><p>She dragged herself forwards, battered shoulder screaming in protest and dislocated at best, knowing that she needed to find somewhere she could contact her brothers. A big site like this had required all hands on deck, and it was looking more and more like Virgil was going to have to dig her out.</p><p>Provided Virgil was okay. They'd all been in buildings when John had warned them about the incoming aftershock, ordering them all to get the hell out of there, and Kayo had no idea how many of them had managed it.</p><p>No, she wasn't going to think like that. Her brothers were strong, plucky, and <em>lucky</em>. They'd all be out, safe and sound and probably going crazy about her absence. She could already imagine the scoldings she'd get from all of them – right the way from smother hen Scott to angry puppy Alan – and allowed herself a small grin.</p><p>She'd get out of there, they'd find the hopefully not dead people she'd been in here to rescue (no bodies meant they'd been trapped elsewhere), and then go home where Virgil and Grandma would tut about her ankle and the boys would be lining up to yell at her for scaring them.</p><p>Her hand landed on something that wasn't masonry.</p><p>Soft, warm, hopefully breathing.</p><p>"Hello?" she called, curling herself up in an awkward sitting position – her hair was brushing the underside of this section's current 'ceiling'; clearly it was no higher than the last.</p><p>No response, and she fumbled around to try and find their head. Breathing but unconscious she could work with, even if she'd prefer them awake and well.</p><p>Bloody fingers found a throat – both head and body attached to it, which was always a good start. The collar of whatever they were wearing felt tough from the brief brush she had against it, but more important was the <em>thump-thump, thump-thump </em>of a pulse that tickled her torn fingertips. No doubt she was leaving lovely blood trails all over this person, but that was nothing a little bit of water couldn't fix once they were out.</p><p>"Hello?" she tried again, tapping their cheek in the hope of getting a response.</p><p>A low groan greeted her, and she tried again.</p><p>"Hello, can you hear me?"</p><p>A longer groan; good, they were waking up. She put a hand on their shoulder to steady them if they tried to move and froze.</p><p>They were wearing a sash. No, this wasn't a sash. She traced the smooth, familiar texture down with her fingers until they snagged on an imprinted section.</p><p>It was academic at this point, but she traced the imprint slowly, just to be sure. Just to be <em>absolutely</em> sure that she hadn't found one of the people she was supposed to be rescuing, but one of her own brothers.</p><p>
  <em>iR.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II - John</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="xcontrast">
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>Disassociation. Usually a coping mechanism, a mental defence against all that was bad and wanted to cause pain – mental or physical. A fascinating subject for those interested in how the mind worked, what made people <em>tick</em>.</p><p>In John's case, it was something else. He compartmentalised his emotions as required – a must in a communications job of this calibre – but for him disassociation wasn't removing himself, either wholly or in part, from the situation at hand. It was the fact that, up in Thunderbird Five, he <em>could not</em> <em>feel</em> the things that mattered the most.</p><p>He couldn't feel his family, whether it be Scott's supporting arm around his shoulders or Alan's high-fives. He couldn't run to them, hold them to reassure himself that they would be okay. Holograms, for all that they were an integral part of his life, felt like nothing. They <em>were</em> nothing, just a pretty display of lights to be manipulated by sensors detecting his movements and repositioning the lights as required.</p><p>There was nothing to physically <em>touch.</em> Nothing to <em>hold</em>. And while John was very exact about his personal space – who was allowed in when, and how far – sometimes, that <em>nothing</em> was too much.</p><p>Right now, those weightless, pretty light shows were all sorts of heavy, unpretty things. Red was John's least favourite colour – maybe it hadn't been, once upon a time, but now <em>red</em> meant <em>bad news</em>, meant <em>no signal</em>, meant <em>he didn't know what was going on</em>. Alan was, of course, the exception to this, and the little red icon holding steady with a silhouette of a rocket was one of the few things John liked about the current stream of data, but when the only other colour he had was a cheery yellow with a submarine, that was bad.</p><p>It was particularly bad because the grey, blue and green icons that <em>should</em> have been there, had been there until the aftershock hit, had been replaced with red. <em>No signal. Your immediate brothers and only sister have been lost</em>.</p><p>Alan was chattering away in his ear, babbling about <em>collapsed</em> and <em>crushed</em> and <em>any lifesigns, John?</em> Gordon was quieter, calmer in that way he only got when things were <em>bad</em>. Up above them, safe from earthquakes and aftershocks and any disasters Mother Nature periodically threw at his brothers, it was John's job to deal with this. Two panicked younger brothers. Three missing siblings. Multiple lifesigns in the wreckage winking out one at a time.</p><p>The numbers had halved since the aftershock hit. John didn't tell his remaining brothers that, exactly. He reported where lifesigns were, starting with the ones nearest them, most stable. Easiest to extract.</p><p>Gordon and Alan no doubt did the math, but they didn't comment. When rescues went to hell this spectacularly, there were things you didn't say out loud.</p><p>He set EOS to boosting signals, calculating last known positions and trying desperately to restore communications to his absent siblings. It should have been his job, but then EOS would have had to take over talking to Gordon and Alan, directing their Mole Pods. EOS would have done a better job, too, but it wasn't EOS his youngest brothers needed to hear right then, it was John. John was too much a big brother to abandon them like that, even though right now he wanted to hear <em>his</em> big brother.</p><p><em>Sorry, Thunderbird Five, there's a lot of interference down there</em>, would have been the best thing to hear, but he didn't. Instead, he heard Gordon reassuring a little boy that they'd already found his grandfather, that his grandfather would be fine, <em>let's get you out of here; you're really brave, you know that?</em> He heard the intake of breath as Alan stopped, before his youngest brother reported no discernible pulse in the crushed and twisted body he'd no doubt found.</p><p>He heard everything he didn't want to hear, but not what he needed to.</p><p>Holograms were quite frankly appalling for taking his frustration out on. He'd learnt that years ago, back when emotions still bubbled to the surface too easily on missions. Back when he'd thought they could save everybody, that he'd never have to hear someone die. John did what he did best and bottled it up, corked and ready for a release with some zero-g handball the moment the world let him breathe again.</p><p>But first, he had to find his family. EOS reported no success in boosting their signals, in the remorseful tone she'd coded herself after listening to him and his brothers for hours on end, recognising a difference in their speech based on emotion and determined to replicate it. However, she <em>did</em> have their last known positions, and likely areas to search based on how the buildings had collapsed.</p><p>John wished he could tell Gordon and Alan to drop everything else and search those areas, but he couldn't. <em>They</em> couldn't. There were still civilians trapped with far less equipment at their disposal, the same civilians they'd attended to save in the first place. He didn't know if Gordon and Alan would obey him if he told them to abandon people in need. He refused to find out.</p><p>Besides, just because he couldn't contact them, didn't mean they were necessarily in trouble. Maybe they were rallying survivors even now, doing their job and saving everyone they could. It didn't mean anything, even though the only lifesigns that were <em>moving</em> were the ones with Gordon and Alan, the ones being carried back through precarious tunnels in Mole Pods.</p><p>They'd be <em>fine</em>, he told himself firmly, directing Gordon to the next lifesign as he locked away the panicked brother in the back of his mind to beg and pray that he still had five siblings, away from the communications specialist that still had a job to do. Most of the survivors had found air pockets, sturdy pieces of furniture to hide under, like you were <em>supposed</em> to do in an earthquake. They were walking out near enough unaided.</p><p>Even if Scott and Virgil and Kayo were trapped somewhere, they'd be fine. Maybe some scrapes and bruises but nothing they couldn't handle. Gordon or Alan would find them and then they'd be helping out again – even if their comms were still down, he'd be able to hear them through the youngests'.</p><p>Everything would be <em>fine</em>. So why couldn't he believe that?</p></div></div></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III - Virgil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="xcontrast">
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>He opened his eyes with an involuntary groan<em>. Ow</em>, something wasn't right. An attempt to move resulted in his right arm screaming out in pain and he stopped. Okay, that was a problem. Keeping said arm carefully still for the moment, he turned his head to the side – registering that it was <em>dark</em>, and that the light from his helmet was the only thing stopping him from staring into black – to try and see his immediate surroundings and- <em>oh</em>. That explained it.</p><p>Where his arm should be, there was a chunk of building. Specifically, a piece of what had once been a supporting wall, he suspected, although that wasn't particularly helpful when it was trapping his right arm and therefore a good part of the Jaws of Life, too. Wonderful.</p><p>"Thunderbird Five?" he called out, even as he continued to look around, spying his other arm – still linked in to the Jaws of Life – intact and covered in small chunks of masonry rather than one large one. John didn't answer, which meant nothing good, because presumably his suit telemetry would be picking up on the probable damage to his right arm and sending it straight to his older brother. If John wasn't picking up, that meant John <em>couldn't</em>, and Virgil didn't like any situation which resulted in being cut off from any of his brothers. "Scott?"</p><p>Biggest brother also remained silent, and with a groan he lifted his left arm, allowing the masonry to trickle down onto the uneven floor. Typically, the claw best suited to lifting a large chunk of fallen wall was also the claw buried <em>under</em> said chunk of fallen wall, but Virgil was resourceful. Rolling over onto his side and gritting his teeth against the agony of his very upset right shoulder – dislocated, probably – he got the three grabs of his precision claw securely clamped onto the offending slab of masonry.</p><p>The angle was awkward and all wrong, but this? This was what Virgil did, and no relatively small piece of wall was going to get the better of him today. With a groan that was two parts effort and three parts pain, he heaved the slab up and forced his unco-operative right arm, complete with attached exosuit, to scrape out of the way before dropping it with an almighty <em>crash</em>, unfortunately prompting more smaller chunks to pepper him from above.</p><p>Virgil didn't really need the reminder that a collapsed building was not a safe place to be in. Ideally, he'd like a map of the place, complete with locations of other trapped individuals, so he could continue his job. His right arm – both the dislocated shoulder and the probable broken radius and/or ulna – would have to wait until he got out of there.</p><p>Some of his brothers, naming no names of course, would continue to use the Jaws of Life with a broken arm, claiming that it was splinting the injury and therefore causing no further damage, but then, that was why this particular equipment had <em>his</em> name on them. He could be trusted not to do anything stupid with the heavy duty equipment, which was exactly why he wasn't removing it, and already looking to find a weak point in his small air pocket to work his way free of the rubble.</p><p>Beyond his small prison, there was the sound of sobbing. He couldn't make out any words, but it was clear to him that at least one person was there, in trouble, and a broken arm was not going to stop him from saving them. Still, let it not be said that Virgil was as reckless as certain brothers. He left his right arm hanging limp, supported by the equally mangled right claw, and focused all of his strength into his left.</p><p>Being ambidextrous was an absolute <em>must</em> in this job, and not for the first time in his life, Virgil was glad that he could control his left hand to the same degree of accuracy as his right as, slowly, piece after broken piece of masonry piled up behind him. The good thing about having the Jaws of Life was that it made moving heavy masonry possible, even with a single hand. The bad thing about having the Jaws of Life meant that his already built frame was made even bulkier and he had to make a bigger hole so that he could squeeze through without causing another cave-in.</p><p>"Hello?" he called, poking his head through the hole as soon as it was big enough for his helmet and seeing two figures several paces from his current location. One was lying down, a crumpled heap with too much masonry on top of them for him to have much hope, while the other seemed to be a teenage girl. The sobbing was coming from the girl, and from the looks of it she was crying over the other body.</p><p>Neither responded to his call.</p><p>"Hello?" he tried again, louder this time. "I'm with International Rescue."</p><p>The wailing just got louder, and he pulled his head back, eyeing the hole critically to work out the best way to expand it. He had at least two individuals almost within reach, and <em>almost</em> wasn't good enough. It was tempting to shoulder the rest of the masonry out of the way, but if he did that he could well bring the whole thing down on top of them.</p><p>No, he had to go carefully.</p><p>"I'm working my way to you!" he called to the pair, just to keep them in the loop even as they continued to ignore him. He'd long since stopped taking that personally – panic did strange things to the mind.</p><p>The tremors were mild to begin with, so mild Virgil barely noticed them until a small trickle of mortar started to fall from the hole he was making. Another earthquake? No, it wasn't right for that. Too regular, too predictable, too-</p><p><em>Woah</em>.</p><p>Virgil was forced to jump back from a familiar nose cone bursting through the rubble just by his hole-in-progress.</p><p>A Mole Pod? They were using <em>Mole Pods</em>? That seemed a bit risky, although Virgil admitted their options were somewhat limited.</p><p>"Virgil!"</p><p>The hatch lifted to reveal a dirt-streaked grin of pure <em>relief</em> belonging to the next Tracy down in the line. Gordon looked okay, if more brown and grey than blue and yellow, and Virgil relaxed at the sight of assistance and a route out.</p><p>"There are two people just through there," he said, jumping straight into rescue-mode. They could deal with the whole <em>we lost contact and oh my arm is broken </em>stuff later. "A teenage girl and a half-buried individual." Gordon made a face and immediately Virgil knew it wasn't good news.</p><p>"John's only got two lifesigns at these co-ordinates," Gordon told him. "Your gear's not responding to Thunderbird Five – which Johnny's going crazy about, by the way – so one of them is you."</p><p>Virgil had already suspected it wouldn't be a happy ending, but it never got any easier.</p><p>"You go on ahead and get the girl," he said. "I'll see what I can do." Gordon was already shaking his head.</p><p>"Your comms are down, your exosuit looks like Grandma tried to cook it, and don't think I don't know what a broken arm looks like, Virge. You're coming up to the surface where you can reassure our totally-not-terrified big brother."</p><p>"Scott's up top?" That didn't sound like Scott. Scott would be throwing himself into the rubble at the head of the pack, long before he let the terrible two near the Mole Pods.</p><p>Gordon pulled another face Virgil didn't like.</p><p>"Not Scott, our <em>other</em> big brother, the one who lost all traces of you when the second quake hit." He shook his head, opening his mouth as if he had something else to say, but then closing it again. "We'll get the girl out, then all three of us are going back up top."</p><p>Virgil frowned at him, but Gordon had already closed the hatch again, restarting the Mole Pod to create a secure path to the girl weeping over a corpse.</p><p>What wasn't Gordon telling him?</p></div></div></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV - Alan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="xcontrast">
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>"What do you mean, <em>you can't find them</em>?"</p><p>Alan winced as the furious words spat out from his comm. Not that it wasn't good to hear Virgil's voice again – of <em>course</em> he was delighted that one of Gordon's designated lifesigns had turned out to be one of their missing siblings, even if Virgil was injured and having to sit the rest of the rescue out with bad grace – but the loud and sudden outburst as either John or Gordon filled him in on the entire situation just served as a reminder that there were still two of their family missing.</p><p>"Virgil don't you dare get out of that seat," John said. No doubt the family bear was at that very moment preparing to dive back into the rescue, broken arm or not. "Your comms and telemetry are damaged; I can't guide you around the danger zone and I refuse to have you off my radar again."</p><p>It was going to take far more than <em>that</em> to keep Virgil in one place, but Alan left his older brothers to their argument over who was needed where as his Mole Pod once again did what it did best – dug a hole towards people in need.</p><p>"There is one lifesign at reference point eight five six one," EOS informed him. "The optimum angle of approach would be twenty eight point three degrees from your current course."</p><p>"F.A.B.," he acknowledged, and made the shift. It felt weird having EOS in his ear now, when it had been John the entire rescue so far, but John was needed to wrangle Virgil – as best the middle child <em>could</em> be wrangled mid-mission when family was in danger and the rescue wasn't over – and they couldn't afford to wait until Virgil was pacified.</p><p>Alan knew his brother well enough to know that he <em>wouldn't </em>be pacified until all five of them were on board Thunderbird Two and being subjected to full medical checks prior to flying home. Honestly, Alan didn't think he'd stop shaking until then, either. The advantage of having a full-cover uniform designed for primary use in space meant that anyone would have to be looking <em>really</em> closely to see the tremors wracking his body.</p><p>He was scared. John was scared, Gordon was scared, and now Virgil was scared, and that made Alan <em>more</em> scared, because his big brothers were supposed to be the steady ones. But his biggest brother was missing, and Kayo, too, and until the teenager he tried to put aside during missions had given Scott a big hug and punched Kayo's shoulder (and got a harder one in return), he was going to be scared.</p><p>The Mole Pod lurched and he tightened his grip on the wheel, gritting his teeth and lowering the speed. <em>Focus, Tracy. One lifesign ahead. One alive person who needs you to hold it together.</em></p><p>The one person was a little girl, clutching a battered old teddy with tears pouring down her cheeks and nasty scrapes all down her arms.</p><p>"Hey there," he soothed, cautiously picking her up and settling her in the passenger seat of his pod. "My name's Alan and I'll get you out of here, okay?"</p><p>She sniffled at him, said something intelligible that Alan thought <em>might</em> have been "I want my Mommy," and closed her eyes for the journey back.</p><p>"Okay then," he said, mostly to himself as he set the pod into reverse and hit the comms, injecting himself into the still-going debate between Virgil and John. It sounded rather like John had remotely locked Virgil inside Thunderbird Two, and was overriding the overrides Virgil was throwing at him to escape. "Virgil, I've got an injured girl here, she's maybe six or seven. Think you can bandage her up and find her family?"</p><p>There was silence for a moment, as the medic in Virgil presumably warred with the brother. Injured girl. Missing siblings.</p><p>The medic won out, as Alan had hoped it would.</p><p>"I'll take her," he agreed with a loud sigh. "If John stops turning my 'bird against me."</p><p>"I'm doing no such thing," John said, thoroughly unrepentant. "I'm simply preventing you from doing the sort of reckless activity you scold Scott for and going into danger with no back-up."</p><p>"But what about Scott and Kayo?" Virgil demanded. "You can't expect me to do <em>nothing</em>."</p><p>"No, I expect you to do your job as a medic and trust the uninjured members of the team to continue <em>their</em> jobs." John sounded all but scathing, and Alan suspected he was getting tired of the debate.</p><p>"They're not just <em>your</em> siblings, remember?" Gordon chipped in suddenly as daylight filtered through the pod windows and Alan surfaced, turning the nose cone towards Thunderbird Two and medical aid for Virgil. "We're all worried, and Alan and I won't stop until we find them, okay?"</p><p>The large module door lowered as Alan approached and Virgil stepped out. Helmetless, and with one arm in a sling, he certainly didn't <em>look</em> like he should be going anywhere near the danger zone, in Alan's opinion. Still, it wasn't until the little girl and her teddy were being carefully lifted out by Alan that he stopped frowning.</p><p>"Hey there, sweetheart," he heard his big brother say as he headed back to the pile of once-a-group-of-buildings under EOS' directions. "My name's Virgil, what's yours?"</p><p>"There are two lifesigns together at reference point eight five six two," EOS informed him, cutting off the world above as he once again dug his way in, following his previous path for most of the way. The two were just a little further on, a little deeper down, and as soon as his headlights illuminated their silhouettes he knew what he was looking at.</p><p>"John! I've found them!"</p><p>He didn't wait for any acknowledgement before he was leaping out of the pod and scrambling the rest of the way through the low pocket of space towards them. Kayo didn't look too terrible – her helmet was missing, and her face and hands seemed to be bloody – but her face was pale.</p><p>"Alan!"</p><p>Forget responsible member of International Rescue. Forget being an <em>adult.</em> Alan hugged her tightly, and was relieved when she embraced him back, just as tight.</p><p>"Al..?"</p><p>Immediately, Alan knew something was wrong. Scott's voice sounded tight, like he was in pain, and when he pulled back from Kayo he saw that Scott hadn't moved at all. He was still lying down, despite not being pinned by any rubble.</p><p>"Scott?" he asked. His big brother was also missing his helmet – knowing Scott he'd taken it off for some stupid reason, but Alan was going to leave chewing him out over that to Virgil or John. Or both.</p><p>"Hey, kid." He still didn't move, even though he had pulled his face into what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. Alan had learnt to see through his fake ones years ago.</p><p>"Stay here with him," Kayo said, dragging herself around and facing his abandoned pod. "We'll need Virgil and a stretcher."</p><p>"Virgil's- Kayo what happened to your ankle?" Her boot was gone, as was her sock, and in the light from the pod he could see some bruising and swelling. It looked pretty bad.</p><p>"It's nothing," she shrugged, hauling herself into the driver's seat. "You can't take us both at the same time and we can't leave Scott by himself."</p><p>"Yes, but-"</p><p>And she was gone, leaving them with just the light from Alan's helmet.</p><p>"Kayo!" Predictably, she didn't reply. "Thunderbird Two?"</p><p>"Alan! John said you found Scott and Kayo?"</p><p>"Scott's right here," Alan confirmed. "Virgil, Kayo's coming back to you with the Mole Pod. I think she's busted her ankle, but that didn't stop her from hijacking my pod. I'm still down here with Scott."</p><p>"Injuries?"</p><p>"Too dark to see, but he's awake. Kayo says we need a stretcher, though." <em>And you, </em>he didn't say, assuming that she'd change her mind when she saw he was injured, too.</p><p>"I'll have one ready by the time she surfaces," Virgil promised.</p><p>"F.A.B.," Alan acknowledged, before turning his attention back to his eldest brother. Scott was too slow to hide the look of fear with another fake grin, and Alan scrambled even closer. "What's wrong?"</p><p>"It's nothing, Alan," Scott tried to tell him, but Alan didn't believe him for a second.</p><p>"Scott? What's wrong?"</p><p>"Seriously, Alan, it's nothing." But it wasn't, Alan could see that, could tell from the fear Scott wasn't hiding as well as he thought, from the way he hadn't moved at all since he'd arrived.</p><p>"Scott!" he snapped, and if there was water in his eyes he was ignoring it. "Don't lie to me. We've got to get you out of here so if there's <em>anything</em> that's going to affect that, <em>I need to know</em>." Scott opened his mouth to protest but Alan steamrolled right over him. "You don't get to treat me like a kid right now, Scott. I'm a member of International Rescue, and like it or not, you need rescuing right now so let me do my job, dammit!"</p><p>"Language," Scott scolded weakly, but Alan was having exactly none of it.</p><p>"If <em>you</em>, my big brother, don't trust me to rescue you, who will? You let me join the team because you thought I was ready. You don't get to take that back the moment it's <em>you</em> I'm saving!"</p><p>For a moment there was silence, punctuated only by Alan's own ragged breathing, loud to his ears. Then Scott sighed.</p><p>"You're right," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Alan. To be honest…" He trailed off, pausing for so long Alan wondered if he'd even continue. "I can't move. There's some pain in my back, I think it twisted badly when I got knocked over, and-"</p><p>Alan wanted to cry, wanted to pretend he <em>didn't </em>have to deal with this. This wasn't fair. Why? <em>Why?</em></p><p>"-and I can't feel my legs."</p></div></div></div>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V - Scott</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: This chapter contains a panic attack.  Please take care if that may affect your mental well-being</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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<p></p><div><p>The moment the words left his mouth, Scott wanted to take them back. Alan was right – he was a fully fledged member of International Rescue (<em>and whose fault was that,</em> a voice Scott liked to pretend didn't exist hissed at him from the back of his mind) and therefore needed to be trusted as such on a mission. But Alan was also a kid – his kid brother, to be precise – and even in the dim lighting Scott didn't miss the fear that flickered through his eyes.</p><p>Alan needed him to be strong, needed him to be the supposedly-infallible big brother he'd always strived to be. Battered and broken on the ground, incapable of moving with sheer spikes of <em>agony</em> lancing through him with every breath and then some from a specific point on his spine, Scott didn't feel anything like that big brother. But he had to be, even if his arms wouldn't move and everything from his hips down was dead – so dead that he wasn't even sure they were still <em>there</em>, although both Kayo and Alan would have reacted a little more dramatically if something like that had happened, he supposed.</p><p>That was the only reassurance he had that he wasn't bisected and actually bleeding to death in this dark, unforgiving pile of former-building, and he hated it. <em>Hated</em> that he was reduced to gauging his own well-being by how horrified his younger siblings were.</p><p>Alan took hold of his hand, ridged gloves brushing reassuringly against his exposed fingers.</p><p>"Can you feel this?" he asked, and Scott tried to pretend Alan's voice wasn't shaking, that he couldn't feel minute tremors in his little brother's hands. He was supposed to be the one reassuring <em>Alan</em>, he was the big brother, the strong one, the <em>infallible</em> one.</p><p>He was scared, terrified. <em>Petrified</em>, even. That was a good one – unable to move, petrified. He'd share it with Alan if it didn't give away just how <em>afraid</em> he was. He remembered Gordon, lying in that hospital bed with a broken back and <em>never walk again</em> flying around like a threat, a <em>promise</em>. He remembered his vibrant brother dull and lifeless, <em>I'll never swim again</em>. He'd been there when Gordon was at his worst, the lowest of the low, scraping the bottom of the barrel to find something, <em>anything</em> to smile about when the world as he knew it was crashing down all around him.</p><p>Gordon was strong, he'd got through. Barring a few bad days, you'd never know he'd spent months in the hospital fighting against his own body to get his legs back. Scott had seen what strength he'd needed to win that battle, and the icy grip of fear around his heart told him <em>you're not that strong</em>. One Tracy beating the odds was miraculous. Two-</p><p>Alan's hand tightened slightly and his youngest brother made a concerned noise in the back of his throat. Scott blinked back to the present, away from <em>not strong enough</em>s and <em>never fly again</em>s and everything else his fear was determined to throw at him. Right, he hadn't answered his question.</p><p>"Yeah," he said, fighting his muscles with everything he had until his fingers twitched and loosely curled around those ridged gloves. "I can feel it." It hurt, it hurt so, <em>so</em>, much, but Alan's shaky sigh of relief and small, small smile was worth it.</p><p>"We'll get you out of here," Alan promised, eyes bright with tears the teenager was refusing to let fall. That, Scott couldn't doubt. No matter how terrified he was, no matter how much his own breathing was hitching irregularly from pain and rising panic, he knew he could trust his family to get him out of this hellhole.</p><p>It was what would happen next that scared him. A hospital? Those same blank white walls he'd got far too used to when Gordon was confined there and he practically lived there, unable to abandon his brother? Surgeries? Doctors going through the motions but already knowing there was nothing more they could do?</p><p>If this was his future, he'd never fly again. He'd be useless, forced to watch his younger brothers keep throwing themselves into danger again and again and again without him to watch their backs and pull them out. Watch them wear themselves down until they, too, ended up a cripple from one rescue that took too much.</p><p>He couldn't- No-</p><p>That would be his worst nightmare. <em>Was</em> his worst nightmare. Scott had many, stemming back from their mother's death to every rescue that had ever threatened to take a brother from him, and the worst ones of all were always when he could do nothing but <em>watch</em>. Watch and scream, but be forever too late.</p><p>Just like the Zero-X.</p><p>No- no- he couldn't-</p><p>"Scott!"</p><p>Alan's voice was sharp and clear, dragging him from inside his head back to the here and now, where he was lying in a broken heap with his youngest brother for company. A worried, also scared but trying to hide it and be professional youngest brother. The one he was supposed to be looking after. Not the other way around. Not-</p><p>"Scott!"</p><p>This time there was a hand on his cheek – a ridged glove designed for space. It didn't move, just stayed still, warm and grounding as he realised he couldn't breathe, was gasping for air that just wouldn't fill his lungs.</p><p>"Scott, look at me."</p><p>There was a steel in Alan's voice now, one of the calm yet expected to be obeyed type. Virgil was a master at it – John, too – and somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice wondered where Alan had learnt that trick.</p><p>Alan was above him, leaning over him with tears in his eyes but resolution in his face. With a start, Scott realised his own face was wet, lungs still shuddering and chest heaving far too fast to be effective.</p><p>"Try breathe on my count," Alan was saying, and somewhere in the back of his mind Scott recognised this, remembered the training. "In… two… three… four… five… Out… two… three… four… five… In… two… three…"</p><p>Trying to get his raggedy breathing under control was a struggle, but Alan kept the count going, a soothing voice in his ear to go with the warm hand on his cheek, and finally, finally, Scott managed to match it. That didn't stop Alan's count, steady and grounding, until the whine of machinery reached their ears.</p><p>"We'll get you out of here," Alan promised above the sound. "And we'll always help you, no matter what." If there was one thing he could never doubt, it was his family. Still keeping his breathing carefully steady, all too aware that his grip on his panic was fragile at best, Scott gave him a shaky smile.</p><p>Alan returned it, just as shaky but bright as a Mole Pod whirred its way into view, followed closely by another.</p><p>Gordon was the first to jump out, scrabbling his way to his side.</p><p>"Hey, Scott," he said, flashing him just the briefest smile before the younger brother was gone and the professional rescuer was in its place. "Okay, before we move you we need a better idea of what we're dealing with, so question time."</p><p>"Alan said you've got some pain in your spine?" Virgil jumped in, clambering out of the second pod with a notable lack of his usual grace, Kayo immediately behind him.</p><p>Questions on when Alan had contacted them to share that information were pushed to the side as Scott caught sight of the sling his brother was sporting.</p><p>"What happened to you?" he demanded, attempting to sit up until his body reminded him viciously that it was injured and was having absolutely <em>none of that</em>.</p><p>"Broken arm," Virgil shrugged off as though it was inconsequential. "We're talking about you right now." Scott disagreed, but it became quickly apparent that his siblings refused to change targets and as loath as he was to admit it, he <em>was</em> in a bad way. He carefully stopped himself from thinking beyond that, having no wish to slip into <em>another</em> panic attack with all his siblings as witness – John was, no doubt, listening in.</p><p>Even with the Mole Pods' entrances expanding the space somewhat, the area was still markedly cramped with the five of them in there. Kayo shouldn't even have come <em>back</em>, not with that ankle of hers, and why did Virgil even let her?</p><p>Blond filled his vision and Gordon was there, blocking his view of anything else.</p><p>"Can you tell where the epicentre of the pain is?" his aquanaut brother asked. "Top, middle or bottom?"</p><p>Scott really didn't want to talk about himself, want to <em>think</em> about his injuries; he wanted to know what had happened to Virgil while he hadn't been there to keep an eye on him, wanted to know how bad Kayo's injuries were. But Gordon was persistent, amber eyes equal parts compassionate and determined.</p><p>There was no <em>point</em> lying to Gordon, as much as he wanted to hide his weaknesses from all of his brothers. Gordon had been there, knew exactly what it was like – knew exactly what was in his future. If there was anyone who would understand, it was Gordon.</p><p>"Bottom," he admitted, watching Gordon's face carefully for a reaction, but the strategist that often got overlooked for <em>prankster</em> had a master poker face and not even Scott's big brother instincts could detect a crack.</p><p>"Lumbar, then," his brother muttered. "Anywhere else?"</p><p>Anywhere<em> else?</em> It was all just one big sensation of <em>pain</em>; Scott couldn't identify any other centres, and wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. Could lumbar injury paralyse <em>all</em> of him? He didn't know, and neither Gordon nor the suspiciously-quiet Virgil were giving him any clues.</p><p>Gordon sighed.</p><p>"Okay, let's get you out of here," he said. "Alan, give me a hand."</p><p>The hand on his cheek that had stayed there all through the brief interrogation left as Alan made a noise of confirmation, and then his siblings were shuffling around with the tell-tale sound of hoverjets behind them letting him know the stretcher had indeed been retrieved. There wasn't much Scott could do, except lay as still as he could in the hopes of keeping the pain to a minimum and wait for his brothers to get him out of there.</p><p>He wasn't kept waiting long before they were ready to move him. He eyed Alan, up by his head, hands lightly on his shoulder, with some trepidation.</p><p>"Take a deep breath," Virgil said from somewhere down where he supposed his feet should be. "This won't be pleasant." Scott knew that – was dreading it – and obeyed, closing his eyes and trying to recall the way Alan had counted him through breaths earlier.</p><p>"On three," he heard Gordon say, from a little closer than Virgil. There was a hand on his hip, just above where it all went dead. He guessed the other one was below the cut off. "One, two, <em>three</em>."</p><p>His vision went white as a new dagger of pain shot straight through him. There was the sound of distant screaming, and then everything went blissfully dark.</p></div></div></div>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. VI - Gordon</h2></a>
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<p></p><div><p>Gordon hated hospitals. He hated the overwhelming <em>whiteness</em> of everything, the inescapable stench of disinfectants, the memories that stirred up whenever he was inside one for too long. But for all that he hated it, for all that his memories were fighting to get to the front of his mind, he couldn't leave, not now.</p><p>When it had been him here, trapped in a hospital bed with an unco-operative body and uncertain future, Scott had stayed. Scott had been there through it all, determined to help him in any way possible and horrified at the mere <em>suggestion</em> that he leave – <em>abandon</em> – his brother to this whitewashed hell. Now, the roles were reversed, and no matter what was brewing in his head, Gordon would sooner be back in that bed himself than abandon his big brother.</p><p>Scott always had a <em>presence</em> to him. Already tall, if more Gordon's litheness than Virgil's tank, Scott could command a room effortlessly, and Gordon had got used to that, used to lounging in Scott's shadow because it was <em>nice</em> there. Other people complained about siblings stealing the limelight, of always finding themselves second-best. Gordon got that, had felt the same way once upon a time until he realised he could find his own limelight whenever he wanted – Scott certainly hadn't shadowed the gold medal that had pride of place in his room. He understood better now, knew that Scott would never stifle him, and with no parents the security of his biggest brother filled a hole that would have otherwise stayed open and raw.</p><p>The man laying in the hospital bed didn't seem any bigger than Gordon himself. He was still unconscious, had been ever since they'd moved him onto a stretcher to the sound of agonised screams, but after an emergency surgery and anaesthetic no-one was overly concerned about that. He had no head injuries, a stroke of good luck amongst everything else and sleep was a good aid for healing; while he was sleeping, he wasn't hurting – although the cannula supplying a strong dose of morphine was no doubt also helping that one.</p><p>Still, unconscious or not, Gordon insisted on holding his hand. No-one else questioned it, not that there was anyone else around <em>too</em> question it. Virgil and Kayo, while far better off than their eldest brother, had been confined to Tracy Island for the time being. Neither were pleased about it, but not even Kayo was brave enough to oppose Grandma when she declared that they were to stay put for now.</p><p>Gordon wasn't stupid – he knew that not even Grandma would have been able to enforce her rules on Virgil if his older brother wasn't convinced that Scott was still in good hands. Just because none of them spoke about his accident much didn't mean none of them remembered it. For all his medical prowess, Virgil wasn't the brother best suited to handling Scott once he woke up. That was Gordon, miracle Tracy, <em>never walk again</em> Olympic Champion. Virgil's reluctance obedience to Grandma's demands made it clear that he was all too aware of that.</p><p>Alan had kept himself together remarkably well up until the topic of how they were going to get everyone – and every<em>thing</em> home. After finding Scott and Kayo, helping Scott through a panic attack, and everything else he'd faced down in the rubble of a building, it was the idea that he was best-suited to pilot Thunderbird One home that pushed him too far.</p><p>They'd ended up all piling into Thunderbird Two, with Gordon at the helm while Kayo big-sistered the tearful youngest and Virgil hovered over the motionless eldest. EOS had taken responsibility for the other two Thunderbirds on the scene, returning them straight to base as Thunderbird Two stopped off at their usual hospital – why oh why did they need a <em>usual</em> hospital as well as Grandma, Virgil, and their hospital-grade infirmary on Tracy Island – in New Zealand on the way home. John was down from space, although Gordon hadn't seen or spoken to him yet. With Scott out of action, it fell to the second-eldest and, more importantly, Alan's partner in space, to comfort the distraught teenage astronaut.</p><p>So Gordon was here alone, fidgeting lightly with Scott's calloused fingers as he waited for his big brother to wake up. The room looked just as he remembered it – he didn't know if it was <em>the</em> room, if Scott was lying in the very same bed he'd spent too many long, dark months, but it looked it. Gordon was careful not to look around too much, not to check the view out of the window to see if it was identical to what memories he had of the hospital. Many, particularly the earliest ones, had been repressed, squashed into a corner of his mind to never see the light of day again, but many was not <em>all</em>, and Gordon remembered <em>enough</em>. If he let himself think about them, there'd be another Tracy panic attack, and that was the last thing any of them needed. So he didn't, carefully watching his eldest brother instead.</p><p>With his focus almost entirely on his brother, it was immediately obvious when Scott woke, blue eyes blinking up blearily at the (<em>white, too white</em>) ceiling. He should call for a nurse, hit the call button and inform them that their patient was awake, but Gordon stayed his hand and waited. This… this was personal. He already knew the diagnosis, had heard it from faceless doctors and forced himself through all the medical jargon he'd hoped to never hear again. Scott would take it better from him than some unfamiliar nurse with genuine-sounding but rehearsed lines.</p><p>Like Virgil, unhappily back on Tracy Island with a broken arm and Grandma's soup for company, Gordon hoped Scott would trust that he knew what he was saying. That he <em>understood</em>. Normally, that wouldn't be a hope, it would be fact, but in circumstances like these, nothing was for sure.</p><p>"Hey there, bro," he said quietly, lightly squeezing Scott's hand to get his attention when blue eyes cleared and he judged him to be aware enough of his surroundings.</p><p>"Gordon?" Those same blue eyes focused on him, and Scott frowned lightly. He didn't ask what had happened, but that wasn't Scott's thing.</p><p>"The one and only," he confirmed, a small grin forming on his face. He let it, determined not to be all doom and gloom while Scott filtered through his memories, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in the way that made him a fantastic commander to work out what had happened and why he was in a hospital. It didn't take long, and Gordon squeezed his hand again the moment he saw his eyes widen in fear.</p><p>"My legs-" Scott started, face rapidly paling, and Gordon pulled himself closer so that he was in Scott's line of sight.</p><p>"You're on the good stuff," he said firmly. "I doubt you can feel much of anything right now."</p><p>That got Scott's attention fixed on him, although the colour didn't come back. With wide eyes and pale skin, he looked much younger, but Gordon refused to let that bother him. Back injuries were bad, and he knew Scott remembered much more about his own hospitalisation than he did. It didn't take a genius to see that was compounding the already instinctive fear of losing sensation in his lower body.</p><p>He'd take a leaf out of Alan's book and collapse on another big brother later – Virgil would no doubt be available; John would have his hands full with Alan for some time – but right now Scott needed him, and Gordon wouldn't, <em>couldn't, </em>let him down.</p><p>"I'm not as strong as you," Scott said, and to anyone else that might be a non-sequester, but Gordon was fairly sure he could follow the jump. He was already thinking of the worst, already remembering when Gordon had got the fateful news from the doctors. Gordon wouldn't be surprised to find out that that had been playing through his mind right from the start, maybe even had a hand in the panic attack Alan had been left to field alone.</p><p><em>Not if you talk like that</em>, was on the tip of his tongue, a retort honed by years of verbal sparring with brothers, older and younger. But contrary to popular belief, Gordon did think before he spoke, and he knew without a doubt that a lightly scolding retort was the last thing Scott wanted or needed right now.</p><p>"I didn't think I was strong enough, either," he said instead. Scott knew that – had been the one there for most of his breakdowns, when he shouted and screamed and cursed the world, or curled up into a metaphorical ball of depression (would have done it literally, if his inability to do so hadn't been the whole reason for it in the first place) – but right now Gordon suspected he needed a reminder. "You're not alone, Scott. You stayed with me when it was me stuck in that bed, and I'm going to stay with you now."</p><p>If he was hoping for a quip back – <em>I'd hope so, too</em> – it didn't happen. It was too soon, the whole situation too raw, for that. But Gordon wasn't done.</p><p>"However, I have some not so bad news for you," he continued. He couldn't call it <em>good</em> news, when there was nothing <em>good</em> about the whole thing, but it was far, far, better than anything he'd been told when it was him laying immobile in a bed. "You don't get the dubious honour of nasty doctors coming in and telling you you'll never walk again."</p><p>"<em>What</em>?" Scott demanded. "But- my back? My <em>legs</em>?"</p><p>Gordon squeezed his hand again, sitting back in his chair to get comfortable again – or as best he could. How Scott had managed to stay in the things for so long once upon a time, Gordon didn't know.</p><p>"Let me start from the top," he said, once he was settled and Scott was looking at him with burning curiosity – and hope. A spark in those sky blue eyes that hadn't been there even two minutes ago. It was a spark Gordon knew would see him through. He had faith in Scott, even if Scott didn't have faith in himself right now. "Somehow, you didn't break your back. At least, not completely. Your fifth lumbar vertebrae took some damage, which is going to take time and probably another surgery to heal-"</p><p>"Another?" Scott interrupted. "How many have I had?"</p><p>"Just the one, so far," Gordon assured him. "They had to remove some of the chips that came off before they caused any more damage than you're already dealing with. That went fine, by the way, and they were also able to confirm that your spinal cord hasn't taken any damage, so depending on how well your vertebrae heals up there should be little to no lasting complications in the long term."</p><p>Relief warred with confusion on Scott's face and Gordon fell silent, sensing a question. Thankfully, Scott didn't need further encouragement to ask the obvious thing.</p><p>"If my back's not broken and my spinal cord is fine, why couldn't I – can't I – feel my legs?"</p><p>"Because your body's response to things where they shouldn't be is to swell up, and that swelling put pressure on your nerves," Gordon assured him. "It'll take a while to go back to normal because typically it's squishing the important ones that control your legs, and longer for the nerves to repair themselves from being squished up, so you are going to be stuck in bed or in…" Gordon still hated it, still refused to have anything to do with it, although as long as he wasn't the one using it maybe he could face it, "<em>that thing</em> for a while, and then there's all the PT from the inevitable lack of use for a while, but unless something goes wrong with the surgery, you should be okay."</p><p>Scott didn't respond, and Gordon abandoned his uncomfortable chair in favour of perching on the edge of the bed, reaching over so that he was holding both his hands.</p><p>"Scott?" Sometimes, silence was good. Right now, silence was <em>not</em> good. He wanted to know Scott had heard and understood what he'd said. <em>Needed</em> to know.</p><p>"I'm… not paralysed?" his big brother asked slowly, shakily, as though he couldn't quite believe it. Gordon couldn't blame him; <em>good</em> news on the medical front from the outset was a rarity for the Tracys. Usually it was bad news which they promptly decided wasn't going to win.</p><p>Privately, he shared Scott's concern that it seemed too good to be true.</p><p>"Not as it stands," he assured him out loud, unable to stop himself from grinning. What was the point, anyway? Even if Gordon couldn't really qualify <em>you'll be bed-bound and then wheelchair-bound for a couple of months</em> as <em>good</em>, it was still <em>better</em> than any of them had feared and expected when they'd found out Scott couldn't feel his legs. "That doesn't mean the next few months are going to be <em>easy</em>, because they won't" – PT was its own brand of hell after extended forced bedrest – "but I'm here for you – we're <em>all</em> here for you – and you're going to get through this."</p><p>Finally, he got a small smile from Scott.</p><p>"Shouldn't a doctor be telling me all this?" he queried, and Gordon shrugged unapologetically.</p><p>"I'll let them know you're awake in a minute," he said, leaving <em>I thought you'd rather hear this from me</em> unsaid.</p><p>"In that case, <em>Nurse Gordon</em>, please go and call a doctor," Scott retorted, and Gordon heard the underlying gratitude loud and clear, even as he protested that he was at <em>least</em> a Doctor, thank you very much, to a noise that could almost have been a chuckle from his big brother.</p><p>
        <em>You're right. Thank you.</em>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. VII - Sally</h2></a>
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    <p>It had been a very difficult four months since her grandchildren had come back from a mission in pieces. Some wounds were easier to fix than others – while Virgil and Kayo were somewhat grumpy patients, especially when faced with an enforced six week grounding apiece for their injuries, the physical hurt was, sadly, nothing new. For the grandchildren within her easy reach, the emotional hurt was so much worse.</p><p>Alan, trying so hard to be like his older siblings, so <em>determined</em> to be an adult. He might have been the one physically supporting Kayo off of Thunderbird Two when the green giant finally landed at home, but it was clear that while he was physically fine, he'd been in a situation no boy his age should ever have to face. Sally knew, of course. Her grandchildren knew better than to cut off communications with base, even when they were actively running everything through John and EOS on Thunderbird Five, and the situation Alan had been forced to handle by himself had been streamed to her in real-time.</p><p>She'd been helpless then. She wasn't helpless now.</p><p>John was home. Four months since he'd last been in Thunderbird Five – a record since the Zero-X and all the hell that had brought with it. EOS was doing his job admirably, if with some stumbles where the AI hadn't yet learnt all the little quirks that made humans <em>human</em>. Sally might not fully understand all this newfangled tech – she remembered her parents and grandparents being much the same way with the advent of the internet and smartphones and touchscreens at the turn of the millennium, things once <em>new</em> and <em>advanced technology</em>; all of her grandsons called that <em>outdated junk</em> – but she understood that EOS could learn at a frightening pace. One day the young AI would be able to interact seamlessly, although what that meant for John's penchant for lurking in space as much as possible would remain to be seen.</p><p>On the other hand, Gordon had barely been home. The Tracy family had money, and in a cruel mirror of a few years prior, her water-loving grandson was burning as much as he needed to for his brother's sake. Most healthcare was free nowadays, but long-term hotel accommodation in the closest hotel to the hospital was definitely not. If she hadn't insisted on him at least coming home to pick up some changes of clothes and home comforts – for his brother as much as himself – she was under no illusions that she would not have seen hide nor tail of him outside that hospital ever since the accident.</p><p>Unable to fly with a broken arm, and with Kayo also grounded and Gordon stubbornly refusing to leave New Zealand until Scott did, Virgil had spent his six weeks of injury leave agitated. International Rescue was down to skeleton staff, with John and Alan left to field any and all rescues they couldn't palm off on the GDF or other appropriate authorities (EOS was very talented at palming rescues off, thankfully, as none of them held their usual enthusiasm for their job). Thunderbird One hadn't left her hangar since Scott's hospitalisation, John citing an unease at piloting either Thunderbird solo and Alan still bursting into tears at the slightest hint that he should sit in his biggest brother's pilot chair, so Thunderbird Two was taking on more and more of the strain.</p><p>Getting off the island to visit Scott after the initial <em>just been hospitalised, boys still in full uniform </em>had proven difficult with no-one available to pilot them. In the end, when Virgil had got agitated enough he was threatening to take Thunderbird One to the hospital, broken arm or not, Sally herself had stepped in.</p><p>She'd never touch Thunderbird One – Thunderbird Two she could just about handle, but Thunderbird One was hyper specialised beyond her skills – but they did still have their rarely-used family jets. Tracy One might have been a fair bit slower than any Thunderbird in their fleet, but Sally could pilot her – regardless what certain grandsons felt compelled to quip about her age – and had finally laid eyes on her eldest grandson in person. She'd seen him in holocalls, but technology was a talented liar. It wasn't the same.</p><p>Scott had looked awful, quite frankly. Laid on his front after what she'd been told was his third surgery – one more than expected, and she didn't like the implications behind that – he'd been lightly bantering with Gordon when they'd walked in. If she didn't know her grandsons better than they knew themselves, she might have been fooled into thinking he was doing well.</p><p>Sally knew better. The tone was wrong, as was his skin colour, but the real tell was his eyes. She hadn't seen him so lost since the Zero-X snatched his father from his fingers. But she didn't comment. Instead, she'd fussed over her grandson as much as he let her, saying nothing when he didn't protest about being too old for being treated like a kid like he usually did if she fussed over him in front of his brothers.</p><p>It had been a quiet conversation with Gordon when Virgil took over, fielding questions about his own injury patiently because they all knew Scott wanted distracting from his own situation and nothing ever distracted him as well as looking after his brothers, that told her the news.</p><p>The bone had almost finished healing but his nerves hadn't bounced back as expected. He could, at least, now feel his legs Gordon reported, calling it a constant case of tingly pins and needles, and everything above the waist could be moved with minimal discomfort, but he still couldn't so much as wriggle his toes.</p><p>He'd known it was too good to be true, Gordon had confessed in a little waiting room off to the side, out of sight and earshot of his brothers where he didn't have to keep up a brave face and could wilt just a little. <em>Good</em> things like a comparatively easy fix for a serious injury just didn't <em>happen</em> to their family. The doctors had one more trick to try, one more surgery for Scott to endure, in the hopes that the damage could be minimised.</p><p>Then and there, Sally had made the decision to stay in New Zealand until the results of the fourth surgery, scheduled for the following week, were clear. More money was burnt for more accommodation, but what good was having a fortune if it wasn't used in situations like this? Virgil and Kayo had been eager to remain with her, not baulking for a moment at the sudden change of plans.</p><p>The fourth surgery came and went. Doctors had hushed conversations with her, with Gordon who refused to be kept in the dark about a single part of his brother's condition. They had private conversations with Scott, which Gordon muscled his way into every time without fail – the doctors didn't even try to stop him. Sally wondered how long it had taken them to stop fighting and accept that Gordon wouldn't let Scott go through a single step of the long and torturous road he'd been thrown on alone.</p><p>Knowing her boys, not long at all.</p><p>She'd been there when amid tears of frustration and depressed declarations of <em>I'm not strong enough</em>, Gordon had yelled in triumph and overridden Scott's defeatist attitude with the observation that something had <em>moved</em> beneath the covers.</p><p>She wasn't needed there, and even Virgil had hung back as Gordon unceremoniously flung the covers away and encouraged Scott to try again – <em>one more time, Scott, I know what I saw. You've got this</em>. Gordon was of course correct, and tears of frustration had turned to tears of relief as a big toe curled.</p><p><em>You've got this</em> became a mantra. Or perhaps she should say the mantra <em>you've got this </em>returned. Scott had said the same thing to a younger, broken Gordon, over and over again until it came true. Now, the situation was reversed but the words were the same. Sally knew Scott recognised it for what it was: a reminder and a promise. Just as he'd believed in Gordon when Gordon himself hadn't, Gordon believed in <em>him</em> when he didn't.</p><p>Luck wasn't a friend of the Tracy family, but Faith was.</p><p>Now, four long months after an earthquake dropped a building on him, Scott was coming home, and to nobody's surprise at all, Virgil had <em>insisted</em> that Thunderbird Two be the plane of honour. Sally knew her middle grandson had been frustrated at how little he'd been able to help during the hospitalisation – usually the one best suited for anything and everything medical, this time Gordon took the lead, leaving the medic of the siblings awkwardly on the edge, not quite able to take his usual place.</p><p>No more. Away from the hospital, back home where he belonged, there were no doctors bustling around and primary care fell straight to the family – Sally and a fully-healed Virgil were ready when Gordon pushed a hoverchair of frail, still not capable of walking even if he could now get his limbs to respond, Scott from the green giant into their home.</p><p>It wasn't over. It wouldn't be over for a long time – Scott's physical therapy had only just started, and they all knew how much of a challenge that would be – but as the hoverchair came to a halt in the den and Scott was swamped by an entire family without a single dry eye between them, Sally had faith that as always, her boys would pull through.</p><p>After all, <em>they'd got this</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's all for this sense.  I'll be back soon with the next one, I'm sure!</p><p>Thanks for reading!<br/>Tsari</p>
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